


just a taste

by trilliananders



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, chef!au, plus!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22699066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliananders/pseuds/trilliananders
Summary: chef!au; a series of one shots based around chef!bucky cooking for you.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. grilled cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you can always tell how good a chef is by how he makes a grilled cheese.

“May I have the… king burger and a side of the Parmesan truffle fries please?” This food truck was your favorite in the city, it just so happened to be parked right outside of your job, and definitely served up some spicy creole flavors. It had gumbo and jambalaya by the cup, a burger that shouldn’t work as an ode to kings bread but it did and fresh beignets straight from the fryer if you had a sweet tooth. 

“Would you like something to drink?” The men who worked it were just a plus, the two of them both terribly handsome, the one currently taking your order was smooth. Impossibly smooth. The gap in his front teeth was incredibly endearing, but the wedding band on his finger and the sweet tone he usually used with you led to you believe his marriage was a happy one. 

“We’ve got the Big Shot Pineapple back in,” A sweaty bottle placed on the ledge, “I know that’s your favorite.” And you did love some pineapple soda, but you’d been trying to eat healthier, and ignoring the fact that you were ordering a burger and fries you fought yourself for a moment on whether or not this soda would be too much. 

“Stop pressuring her, Sam.” The man behind him joked, “She’ll get the soda if she wants it.” A smirk on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. It was no secret to your coworker behind you, Nat, that you had a crush on Bucky Barnes. His strong jaw and bright blue eyes, that tight bun on the back of his head and his fucking biceps. Those strong arms that were wrapped in colorful tattoos. You’d sat near the food truck every Friday since it’d started parking here two months ago and watched him work. 

The kind smile he’d give people, the funny remarks as he cooked their food. The sweat dripping down his face as he lifted the lid off the pot of jambalaya to spoon out a portion. You’d drool over whatever you’d ordered that day watching him work. 

“You should ask him out,” Nat popped a fry into her mouth. “He likes you.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the cheap pineapple soda that was just so fucking good. 

“He’s nice to me because I tip well,” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, watching him powder beignets and hand them to a sweet little boy, icing sugar still on his fingers. You sighed, looking down at your burger. “Maybe once I lose some weight.” The burger was half eaten as you stare at it with despair. You had been doing so well today, but the sign on the side of the truck said they were only making it the week of Mardi Gras so they wouldn’t have it next week so you HAD TO get it. 

It was a very good reason. 

“What’s wrong with you right now?” The red headed goddess asked, being someone who hadn’t been a pound overweight her entire life. You rolled your eyes, “No seriously, you’re the same person whether you’re overweight or not. And I can tell when someone likes you and he likes you.” 

“I know I’m the same person,” You took another sip of soda, “I’m just….” How do you say it? “Guys have to be into my body type, I guess. I can’t just go out and approach anyone for a date.” You popped a fry in your mouth, “They have to like fat girls.” 

“I hate when you say that.” Nat shook her head.

“Say what?” You licked the parmesan truffle flavoring off your finger. 

“Fat.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I’m ugly.” You took a glance over at the subject of the conversation, Sam must have said something funny to him because he was laughing. That head thrown back, grab your belly laugh. Fuck he was so hot. His eyes met yours across the pavilion. And he winked. He fucking winked. 

“Just go ask him.” Nat stole another fry. “He always gives you extra fries, he practically pays for your lunch,” There was always something they ‘forgot’ to charge you for after they swiped your card. 

“No big deal.” Sam would say, he would elbow his buddy, “It’s on the house.” It happened more often than would be normal. 

“I’m just saying, instead of thirsting over him, at least go give him your number.” Maybe next week. This week you’d spilled some juice from your burger all over your blouse. 

“Next week.” You agreed, “New week I’ll give him my number.” 

You’d been on track with your diet all week, the salads, protein smoothies, healthy snacks. That way, you reasoned, on Friday when the ‘Connect Nola’ food truck parked on the pavillion you’d be able to treat yourself with something good. 

And something better than good. 

He was wearing a black t-shirt today, his hair in a high bun on his head, strands framing his face. A clear plastic poked out of the back of his shirt on what looked like fresh ink he’d gotten since last time you’d seen him. The special was a boneless fried chicken breast and red pepper jam on a biscuit. 

“That’s what you should get.” Bucky said from his place over the flat top. Two fryers working hard next to him. “It’s my recipe, so it’s good.” 

“As opposed to mine?” Sam smacked his friend, scooting himself around him to pluck the pineapple soda from the cooler. Bucky laughed. 

“I’ve got some fried green tomatoes for you too if you want them.” He winked. Your mouth watered. 

“You’re going to kill me.” You sighed, “Of course I want them.” Bucky smirked, 

“Good cause they’re almost done.” He was stirring some kind of sauce in a metal bowl that after he placed the four thick slices of fried tomato in the paper container he poured over top. The two paper containers were placed on the counter, pineapple soda sweating next to them. You pulled out your card, flipping it between your fingers when Bucky stepped in front of Sam to hand you your food. 

“How much do I owe you?” Your voice was breathy, heart racing at the sight of him so close. He leaned over the side, crossing his arms on the counter. 

“Dinner, tonight maybe?” A charming smile, almost bashful. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I was going to ask you out.” You laughed. His smile widened. 

“Well now you don’t have to… so?” His number had already been scribbled on the take out container next to him. “I’ll see you later.” Nat elbowed you to respond. 

“Yeah… yes!” You took the warm containers from him, his fingers brushing yours. “Yes, later. Okay.” You bumped into Nat as you stepped backwards. “Bye.” 

He smirked in response, “Bye.” 

“I have nothing to wear.” You groaned over the phone. Nat laughed from the other side, 

“What about that black dress with the flowers?” The one you’d bought from the flea market in the summer. “Wear that.” 

The doorbell rang and your heart dropped. “Fuck, he’s here. Hold on.” You quickly shifted through your closet finding the dress she was talking about. “Just a minute!” You called to the man behind the door. “I’m so fucking disorganized.” You said to your friend on the phone, “Where are those heels?” 

“The black ones with the thick strap? They’re under your bed. You kicked them off when we got back from brunch last week. I’m sure.” She was right. The dress was soon slipped over your head, heels buckled. “Use protection, be safe, and if you need anything call me.” Your face flushed with the thought. 

“Hey,” You panted, opening the door. Bucky stood on the other side, nice slacks and a dark blue button down. “Sorry, I was just…” You gestured behind yourself, catching your breath. 

“It’s okay,” He laughed, “I uhh…” He raised a brown paper bag he’d been holding. “I figured I’d cook you dinner, if that’s okay?” So you put on the shoes for nothing, he laughed, “I’m sorry, but yeah, you put on the shoes for nothing.” 

“Shit,” You covered your face with your hand, not realizing you’d said it out loud, “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Bucky lowered the bag, “Can I come in?” You stepped to the side,

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Being an adult you’ve taken a lot of time perfecting your living space enough that you didn’t need to go out if you didn’t want to. You were fairly proud of your home, the apartment you’d spent the last couple years in slowly collecting items to finally make it yours. From the soft velvety throw down to the little knick knacks that didn’t make it too minimalistic. 

“You’ve got a really nice place here,” He put the bag down on the kitchen counter, he pulled out a bottle of wine and what looked like the ingredients to, “Grilled cheese,” He shrugged sheepishly, “You can always tell a good chef by his grilled cheese. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” You dug through the silverware drawer, pulling out the wine key. “I love grilled cheese.” Two stemless glasses joined you on the counter as you poured the red wine, Bucky opening two different cabinets before finding your pans. 

“We’ve got to get you better pans than this.” He joked, waving your cheap Walmart nonstick pan in the air. 

“That pan does exactly what I need it to do,” You laughed, “Sit and gather dust.” He rolled his eyes, quickly rinsing the pan out and drying it. You took a sip of your wine as he started. 

“Have you always wanted to be a chef?” You asked, stealing a piece of cheese off the cutting board. It was a sharp cheese, tangy on your tongue. He cut another slice. Three different cheeses he had for this sandwich. Along with sun dried tomatoes and a slab of uncut bacon. 

“My Ma was a really good cook,” He begins, “When I was a kid I would always be in the kitchen with her, cooking and baking.” A thick bar of chocolate, eggs and other baking ingredients had been set off to the side for later. A dessert he was going to make that he said would be a surprise. 

“Cooking has always been love for me. It’s a good way to bring people together and a good way to show someone you love them.” His fingers stopped slicing the cheese, looking up at you through his lashes he backtracks, “Not that I love you, not that I don’t care about you because I care about you, but I don’t love you, but not like—“

“I get it.” You laughed, taking another sip of wine, the red in his cheeks in a full flush. He took a steady sip of wine, 

“Have you always wanted to work for Stark?” The cheese was set aside, the thick crust bread sliced, he lay the slab of bacon on the cutting board, working your knife that he’d very expertly sharpened, down the slab, cutting thick slices. 

“Not always,” You mused, “I kind of just fell into this job. My roommate from college, Natasha, had done an internship there during our last year and I originally wanted to go to graduate school, but I haven’t quite decided if I wanted to stick with my major or not, so she helped me get a job just doing clerical work and overtime I’ve just worked my way up a bit. Now I run my own department. So I guess I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded, laying the thick pieces of bacon on a baking sheet, the oven already preheated. 

“What did you want to do?” He asked, placing the bacon in the oven. You sighed, 

“It’s dumb,” He turned to you with an incredulous look, 

“Try me.” He started making a batter for the dessert. 

“I wanted to be a writer.” You shrugged, “Like books.” You gestured to the small library you’d collected for yourself. Stacks of books in your living room next to the shelves of books on your walls. “I have drafts of things, but nothing serious.” 

“You should pursue that.” He poured batter into two medium size ramekins he’d brought himself, tapping the bottom against the counter. “You seem like you’d be an amazing writer.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not good enough.” To tell the truth you’d sent out a couple chapters to some publishers and had nothing but rejection letters, you’d all but given up on it. 

He told you more about his family, his sisters, how his parents were still very much in love. “Sam and I with our buddy Steve had all enlisted at the same time.” He flipped the grilled cheese revealing a perfectly crisped brown bread. “Steve decided to have a military career so he’s working in DC right now, Sam and I decided to own our own restaurant, right now we’re going the food truck thing until we have enough to buy our spot in the city, then hopefully we will have the truck and the home store.” 

The grilled cheese was fragrant, the three cheeses melted together on a spread of the sun dried tomatoes, thick cut bacon in between. He took his chefs knife and cut the sandwiches down the middle, plating them with ease. “This is so fucking good.” You moaned, the first bite, the crunch, the cheese, the tang from the tomatoes, the bacon perfectly cooked and melty in the middle. Bucky smirked at you from across the table, finishing off his first half. 

“I’m honestly surprised you asked me out.” You popped a piece of crust that had fallen onto the side of the plate. Bucky looked at you confused. 

“Why do you say that?” Fuck it was the wine, making you feel a little shitty. You were a little drunk to be fair. 

“You’re just…. You.” You gestured towards him, “So fit and handsome and like… I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head. 

“You’re gorgeous,” He scoffed, “You’re literally the whole reason we even started coming to the pavilion every week. I don’t want to hear that shit.” You sat back in your chair watching him take another sip of his wine, stunned. “Guys really fuck me up because someone probably treated you like you needed to be a certain way to be loved and it’s just not true. I’m attracted to you, you’re kind and funny and smart.” He wiped his fingers on his napkin, “Doesn’t matter to me either way.” Your weight. Didn’t matter. “I like you.” 

His eyes were intense and sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly, “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t.” His hand gently grasped yours, pulling it up to his lips. “I just wanted you to know I like you, no matter what.” Okay. Okay. He leaned in, shifting in his chair to lay an arm over the back of yours, taking the hand he held and placing it on his cheek he softly pressed his lips to yours. 

Your lips parted and met again. And again. And the timer went off on the counter. His phone shrill and loud letting you know dessert was done. “Hold please.” He whispered against your lips. You felt cold when he removed himself from you, puttering around in the kitchen you heard the stove being turned off and he returned a moment later. “Careful they’re hot.” Two perfect chocolate molten cakes, icing sugar and white chocolate sauce drizzled on top. 

“Thank you for tonight.” The two of you stood in front of your open door, his shoes had been slipped back on, hair no longer in a messy bun it hung loose around his shoulders. You were sure it had been your fingers that had worked it loose, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The hot and intense make-out session you’d just had on your couch, tongues mixing and tasting of chocolate. Heavy breaths and soft moans melding together, and just the appropriate amount of wandering hands. 

“No,” He said, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers, “Thank you.” A breath away he pressed his lips to yours again, slowly. Savoring it. “Breakfast tomorrow?” He breathed, resting his forehead against yours in your doorway. You grinned, running a hand down his arm, 

“Same place?” He grinned before taking your lips once more,

“It’s a date.”


	2. chicken noodle soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky makes you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick, and you guys have a talk.

You watched the corded muscles of his back from your spot on the sofa. His right arm moving up and down, steadily chopping carrots as the garlic and onions sweat in a large pot on the stove. His left arm, something you still didn’t ask him about, mottled skin covered with blooming flowers, a rosary, whisping into a vintage pinup girl that posed on his forearm, hands tangled in her hair as she arched her back against the flowers behind her as if laying in a field of flowers. 

His left arm held down the vegetable, knuckles facing the knife as he cut the carrots into thick pieces, practiced fingers running against the blade before he switched hands, left moving not quite as steadily, but still practiced. 

You were sure your apartment smelled delicious, if only you could smell it. 

He came over even though you’d told him not to. Last night when you’d stumbled in your front door after a very draining workweek. The winter deadline met, first quarter final report submitted and a head pounding and nose clogged you’d collapsed onto your couch with a bottle of NyQuil. Dead to the world. 

He’d called worried, you’d been telling him you hadn’t felt well all week. “You need to rest babydoll,” He scolded, you’d rolled your eyes on the phone with him, your heart warming with the concern laced in his voice, toeing your socks off before slipping under the covers. “Stark can go a day or two without you.”

“After this week ends,” You said, “I just have to meet Friday’s deadline and then I’ll rest.” Friday had happened, and everything was done. And you collapsed on your sofa. Resting. 

His call came in two hours after you’d fallen asleep, a groggy, “Hi baby.” And he sighed, 

“I’m coming over.” You snuggled deeper into the cushions of the sofa you’d spent way too much money on, suddenly appreciating how large and soft it was. 

“I’ll be fine,” You croaked, “Really.” But you could already hear his keys in his hand. 

The food truck had been doing really well, well enough that Bucky and Sam hired some extra help. A kid named Peter who needed an after school job that would just handle plating and taking money while Sam or Bucky cooked, finally giving them enough time off between them to start seriously looking for commercial space for their restaurant. Something Bucky had been giddy about for weeks. 

“I told Sam I needed tomorrow off,” He said, toeing off his boots by the front door. Your sleepy face peering at him from behind the blankets pulled up to your nose. “But I’ll have to work Sunday.” He had a large paper bag he’d set on the counter before padding over to you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You really didn’t have to come,” Your nose stuffed and red, a pile of discarded tissues next to you on the coffee table and reruns of Survivor playing on TV. He rolled his eyes, picking the snotty mess of tissues up and saying, 

“When’s the last time you ate?” You didn’t know. “Here.” A glass of orange juice and a glass of water, “You need liquids.” You sniffled and he ran his fingers best he could through your tangled hair. “Wouldn’t you rather be in bed?” 

“I’m comfy here.” You mumbled, eyes half lidded. He nods, brushing his thumb across your cheek, 

“Sleep babydoll, I’ll wake you up to eat.” 

He’d refilled your water, the small sips for your scratchy throat was a marvel. He’d placed a pack of honey cough drops and a new bottle of NyQuil on the coffee table. There was a multi-pack of tissues sitting still in the plastic beside them. The tv had been turned down to a quiet amble. He was listening to some kind of podcast in the kitchen. 

He poured a box of chicken broth into the large pot. A smaller pot next to it cooking egg noodles. A ginger root sat idly beside the stove. 

You knew Bucky loved to cook, he loved making you things you’d never tried before, he’d love to experiment with flavors and you were his own personal guinea pig to try new recipes. They were trying to nail down their menu after all. But he would also make the best comfort food that warmed your very soul.

He knew exactly what you needed and when you needed it. And this soup, as stuffy and clogged, as your head pounded and your body ached, you needed this soup. 

He stirred, a strand of hair falling into his eyes. It must be late. He’d changed into pajamas. The loose sweats and t-shirt wasn’t what he was wearing when he first arrived. He must have felt your eyes on him, turning to look at you as you pulled your lips into a chapped smile. He laughed softly, 

“You look so pathetic.” He joked, pulling a bowl from the cabinet. 

“I am.” You whined, rubbing your head against the pillow, comfortably watching him scoop some noodles into the bowl before ladling the broth on top. Chicken, carrots, celery, mushrooms, a bit of grated ginger, the broth was dark from some soy sauce. Red pepper flakes mixed in and garnished with cilantro.

“Spicy Asian chicken noodle soup.” The broth hit your nose and you could almost feel your sinuses clear then. “You’ll be able to breathe again by the end of this.” His socked toes meeting yours as he curled up next to you, sitting you up and handing you the bowl. “I know you like spice.”

It was so fucking good. Runny nose be damned. You hadn’t realized how hungry you actually were. A bowl was finished, and then a second. His fingers tracing up and down your spine while you ate. 

“If you’re not feeling better by Sunday, you should call out on Monday.” The soup had been packed and stored in your fridge. The noodles separate from the broth. “Stark can afford to go one day without you. You have those sick days for a reason.” You know. You know. 

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you tight into his chest. 

“I’m gonna get you sick.” You mumbled into his soft well worn shirt. His fingers massage your scalp, your eyes drooping. 

“I’ll be fine,” He pressed his lips to your head, “Don’t worry about me. Sleep sweetheart.” 

And you did. 

“So next week Steve is coming up from DC for the weekend.” Bucky called from the kitchen, heating up the leftover soup from last night, “If you’re feeling better by then we were going to go out to dinner, he’s been asking about you and Sam and I think it would be good for you to meet him if you can.” Steve. The other part of the trio.

Bucky had told you they were inseparable once, meeting in basic training the three of them becoming quick friends. Their paths crossed a year after, the three of them chosen to be part of a special ops squad that moved mostly undercover. It didn’t need to be said that the story behind his left arm was buried there somewhere. But he wasn’t ready for that yet. And that’s okay. 

“If you’d like me to.” Honestly it gave you anxiety. You and Bucky hadn’t really had the talk yet, the two of you not even breaching the conversation having sex after spending the majority of the last month together. There was making out, kissing, and a lot of it. But if he wanted you to meet 

Steve it must mean something right?

But there was still this paranoia, this little niggling in your brain that made you feel like the rug was going to be pulled from beneath you. Just like it had before. 

How many times had you been really into a guy and when it came to the point, in what you thought was a relationship, to meet his friends or family he was suddenly really shady about it. A guy had literally told you once, “My friends would make fun of me if I dated a fat girl.” That had been a heavy blow. 

And you know you’re beautiful, you know you’re smart, and you know that you can survive on your own. But you didn’t want to anymore. You wanted to start working towards a partner, possibly getting married, maybe having or adopting kids. And Bucky seemed so perfect. A little too perfect. 

“Of course I want you to.” Meet Steve. The bowl was carefully handed to you while he settled down next to you with his own bowl. “Why wouldn’t I want you to?” The soup was just as good as you remembered it from last night. It had been late, almost one am when the two of you cuddled up on the couch and cleared your sinuses for the first time in a week. 

You shrug, spooning more of the spicy salty broth into your mouth. He gives you a strange look, “You’re my girlfriend,” Brow scrunched, “Girlfriends typically meet their boyfriend’s friends.” Your chapped lips parted and closed, “I mean I know we never like, officially, said anything, but… I thought you knew we were together.” His voice sounded a little sad. His eyes meet yours, placing his bowl on the coffee table. 

You shook your head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you wanted to–” You sighed heavily, “I’m sorry. No, we are together.” 

“Did you think we weren’t?” The bowl was taken from your hands and gently placed beside his on the coffee table, grasping your cold hands in his. 

“I… I didn’t know,” It was hard to look at him, “Sometimes, it’s just…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it more clear what my intentions were.” His voice level and reassuring, “I want to be with you, I want to be your boyfriend.” Your eyes glassy. Your period was probably going to start soon, to be fair. You’d cried during Masterchef earlier when the girl had burned her sauce. It had been devastating. 

“No, I’m sorry.” You shook your head, “Communication goes both ways and I just didn’t think to ask.” In case you said no. He softly pressed his lips to yours, 

“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” You sniffle, 

“You’re gonna get sick.” Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling, 

“Are you gonna answer my question or not?” You bit a little dry skin off your bottom lip before nodding, 

“Yes.” 

The next weekend had been at his own apartment, his stuffy nose and watery coughs a mimic of yours. The dinner with Steve would have to wait.


	3. huevos rancheros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky makes breakfast

Sunday mornings had been especially good lately. The sunlight filtering through the curtains, the apartment quiet, the sounds of the neighbors not stirring, a couple of honking cars on the street below seemed muffled by the arm around your waist. The body at your back protects you from the sun’s rays. His soft snores the only sound you could really focus on. Hair tickling your cheek from where it fell from the bun he’d put it in to sleep.

In your stretch, legs uncurling and muscles moving for the first time in about nine blissful hours you could hear his snoring stop, fingers curling in your t-shirt as he breathed heavily, burying his face back into your neck and pulling you closer to him, wrapping his other arm across your shoulder.

“G’mornin.” His voice raspy and well slept. Lips soft and pouted with sleep pressed gently against the skin of your neck.

“Hi.” His blue eyes half-lidded met yours. His lips softly pressing against yours.

He’d been spending a lot of time at your apartment lately. It was a little nicer than his, a little less of a bachelor pad and more of an adult living space. He had a drawer. His toiletries sat next to yours in the shower, on the shelf next to the sink. His toothbrush, his electric shaver, a jar of hair pomade and so many discarded elastics. He had a couple pairs of shoes next to your door. Two of his jackets hung in your hall closet. Next to your bed, on the nightstand sat the book he was currently reading. It sat on top of his iPad that he used to look at new recipes and shoot off emails before bed.

It happened slowly before you’d even realized it had happened.

But you didn’t mind at all.

“You want coffee?” He whispered against your cheek, pressing a kiss to the skin there before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You hummed in response, he squeezed you to him tightly for a moment more before slipping from bed, your door left open you could hear him pad to the bathroom first. You spread across the bed, starfishing out stretching the last bit of sleep from your body before following him out. The tv was soft and rambling. The news showing the weather.

“What did you want to do today?” You asked, taking the coffee from his hands and taking a seat at the kitchen island. The scars on his left arm extended partially onto his torso. The skin rippled underneath the florals, his shoulder and back darkened purple, blue, and gold with constellations. He shrugged,

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.” Your coffee was made exactly how you like it, he took a sip of his own before continuing, “Or we could go to the Village, Wanda runs a niche little bookshop there, she’s been asking about you.” You’d met the redhead in passing once, the sweet vibrant, boho woman was Sam’s wife. Which seemed a little crazy seeing as he was a little straight laced from the military, he did a lot of VA work, ran the food truck. But once you saw the two of them together, they meshed so well.

He stands between your legs, fingers brushing back a well slept mess hair out of your face, “Or we could stay in,” His lips tasted like the bitter black brew he’d been drinking, “Watch a couple movies,” Another soft kiss, “Maybe take a nap.”

“Either one would be good.” Fingers laced, he rested his forehead on yours. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, enjoying it, not fully awake. Still sleepy and wanting touch.

“How about breakfast first?”

You’d teased him multiple times about it. How elitist he was about food. Bucky was a very, “I’ll make it from scratch,” Kinda guy. There were a box of mason jars in your pantry that he kept for when he wanted to make something, rosemary salt, compound butters, and what he’d made a couple days ago that he wanted to get rid of. A deliciously spicy and well flavored salsa. The jar is about half full. The two of you having used the other half a couple days ago when you’d had a dip night.

It had been a night where he’d been trying out a couple recipes for dips that they wanted to offer on the menu. Some spicy cajun flavors melded with crab, spinach, a vegan artichoke, something with roasted red peppers and a load of garlic. The two of you had put on the Bachelor and dug into the various pots with tortillas, chips, baguette, and naan. This salsa he’d made for fun, just to have. Something simple and delicious.

He used it now with breakfast.

Black beans, a whole chopped jalapeno thrown in with onion and red and green peppers. Soft and bubbling. He’d cracked two eggs into a pan, basting the top with butter to get the white fully cooked but the yolk soft and runny. Corn tortillas toasted on the open flame of the gas burner, turned deftly with fingers he didn’t have much feeling left in. Put on a plate, tortilla, beans, the veggie mix, eggs laid on top. Leftover queso fresco from tacos he’d made last week, and a large spoon of the salsa.

Coffee was switched out for orange juice. A couple of spare tortillas on a plate between you just in case you needed them. He brought your leg into his lap, hand left on your thigh as you ate your breakfast, idly chatting about the new space they’d found that they think is the one. The one for their restaurant.

“It’s gorgeous,” He told you, “A real industrial space, two floors so we could probably do the resturant and the kitchen downstairs and maybe just have an upstairs bar for tapas.” They had a plan, Sam and Bucky. Their vision synced for what they wanted for the restaurant. All it came down to was pinning down the menu.

“Sam is from New Orleans,” Bucky’s fingers entwined with yours while you walked to the subway. “And I’ve always loved Cajun food and that’s why we did the Connect NOLA food truck.” You stood against his chest, arms around his waist while he held onto the bar taking the train into Manhattan.

They were going to bring Connect NOLA into this restaurant. The themed truck, they were looking for an interior designer to bring in the green, gold, and purple—tastefully— into the industrial restaurant.

Fingers intertwined you walked hand in hand down two blocks to a new age looking shop with books in the window. The decor was witchy and gorgeous. The dark distressed wood shelves, the colorful intricate carpet. It was messy, but in an organized way. Herbs and flowers hung dry behind the register, a glass case with crystals and stones. There were comfy well worn chairs spread throughout the store. A small stand with a keurig that seemed the most modern thing in here. Other than the tablet with the card reader plugged into it on the front desk.

You marveled at the sight of her. Wanda was gorgeous. Her red hair was currently piled on top of her head, she wore a dress with a long skirt, the strap of the loose cotton dress half slipped off of her shoulder. Of course she would be a woman who could forego a bra and be fine. A brush of jealousy as she grinned at Bucky, unfounded jealousy. But she was wafish, thin, gorgeous, and married to his best friend. You knew you were being ridiculous. So you shoved that feeling aside.

She bypassed Bucky coming to you, “Oh it’s so good to see you.” She wrapped you in her arms, pulling you in tight. The faint smell of incense and patchouli on her.

“You too.” You couldn’t help but smile back. She was so genuine. She gave off such a pleasant and welcoming vibe you felt foolish for the jealousy just a minute before.

“I’ve been telling Bucky to bring you around for weeks.” She took your hand, pulling you over towards the counter, “He said you want to be a writer?” You felt your cheeks flush, looking back over at your boyfriend who rested his arms on the counter, looking at you innocently.

“I’m not great,” You shake your head, “It’s just a hobby.” You laugh nervously, brushing Bucky’s hand off your arm as he tried to soothe you from the little embarrassment he knew you were feeling.

“She’s good.” Bucky nods, grinning, “I’ve read some of her stuff.”

“When?” You turn to him in a glare. “When did you read anything?” He shrugs, playing with the little cloth bookmarks on the counter, avoiding your eyes.

“You left it open the other night.” He looks at you impishly, “I couldn’t help myself.” The little bit of anger you’d felt in your chest dissolved when he took your hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin there. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for.” You roll your eyes lovingly, looking back at Wanda who was smirking.

“I’m okay.” You say, “I’m not a bestseller.”

“Yet.” She grins, “Not yet.”

You’d left with a couple of books at a steep discount, well worn and scribbled in the margins as used books usually are. Bucky held the fabric tote in his left hand while you were tucked under his arm, waiting for the take out you’d ordered, the small shop barely fitting the two of you and the group that had just walked in.

“You’re a great writer.” He whispered into your hair. “I really liked it.” You hummed, turning your face to his.

“You’re not embarrassed that I’m writing a Lord of The Rings style romance?” He laughed, kissing you softly.

“Nah, I kinda liked it.” His fingers wiggled against your side, tickling you. “And it’s a cross between fantasy, romance, and drama.” Another kiss against your forehead this time. “I’m excited for the sex scene that seemed to be coming up.” You scoff, acting offended trying to push away from him which makes him hold you tighter,

“I’m not putting a sex scene in my book.” You laugh, he wiggles his eyebrows, smirking at you.

“Just for me then?” You roll your eyes, he pulls you tightly into his chest, wrapping both arms around you, “Write it just for me?” A slow languid kiss you felt all the way down to your core. And then another. Your order number was called, your half lidded eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide.

“Maybe.”


	4. cinnamon rolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky thinks you've been working too hard

Stark tower was a marvel. 

The floor to ceiling glass windows, the open layout efficiency. Bucky was expecting cubicles. He wasn’t expecting to step off the elevator and be able to see straight back to his girl’s office over the heads of people sitting at glass desks with computers that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie. 

He’d told you when he was a kid he’d been obsessed with Howard Stark. The inventor. He wasn’t, however, a fan of his son Tony. The man you worked for. 

“He calls you all hours of the day,” he whined, burying his face into your neck, “You’ve gone in two weekends in a row now.” He knew your job was important and he knew you were coming up to a big tech release that you were in charge of the marketing for, but also… he wanted you to stay in bed with him on his one day off this week. 

The restaurant was close to opening and both him and Sam were putting in 16 hour days finishing the menu, choosing silverware and dishes, talking with food distributors, negotiating a seasonal menu, and now hiring a staff. They had to hire a ton of people to open a restaurant and the days were taking a toll on them, but they knew it would be worth it once the restaurant was actually up and running. 

That’s why he found himself here, after simple texts over the last few days and not enough time between the two of you to actually see each other, he brought lunch. 

He’d never seen you at work, the most he’d seen you was during your lunch hour or in the few minutes when you came into either of your apartments and had given him a swift kiss before changing. 

But you looked so serious here. This was your job and from what he could see you were pretty good at it. 

You looked focused on something on your computer screen, leg folded under you, typing. Papers spread across your desk. He knew from experience that those papers were charts of numbers, control group responses, and test results from the tech crew that went in and troubleshooted the product that Tony Stark and his team had come up with. 

Your brow furrowed, he figured you could feel his eyes on you because you looked up at him, face instantly relaxing and a soft smile pulling on your lips. His heart leapt in his chest. 

“What are you doing here?” laughter in your voice, you stepped from the desk to softly, chastely, kiss him. He could feel the grin pulling on his cheeks. 

“I missed you.” A flush to yours. “I brought lunch.” The paper bag held in his hands, stacked with paper takeout containers, food he’d cooked at the food truck and brought up to you. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Your eyes were shining, and he felt so strongly in his chest his love for you. 

“No,” your hands on his stomach between you, “Not yet.” 

There was a small sitting area in your office, complete with a glass coffee table that he spread out everything he’d made. 

“You’re gonna make me gain weight,” you laughed, “I’ve been doing so well.” Bucky rolled his eyes, settling against the back of the couch with his plate. A spicy creole rice, fried okra with a tiny ramekin of dipping sauce, and catfish. They’d gotten fresh catfish this morning and he’d saved a few pieces for him and his girl. 

“Not that it matters anyway,” He shrugs, “But I’ll grill it next time.” You shot him an irritated look. A grin on his face as you dipped fried okra into the savory sauce, humming in satisfaction as the spicy flavor hit your tongue. 

“What is Sam doing?” Right now, Sam and Peter were working the truck, Bucky on his own little lunch break before he’d swap out with Sam before giving Peter his break. Pete had just switched to half days at school, taking night classes at ESU because not only was the kid hard working but he was also extremely smart. 

“Counting down the minutes until I get back probably.” His shoulder pressed to yours, the two of you enjoyed each other’s company during a lunch hour that was over far too quickly. 

His fingers traced patterns on your thigh, head leaned against yours and a content sigh left your lips, “I should get back to work,” you say, but make no move to leave. Bucky hums, fingers gently squeezing your knee before leaning forward and packing up the leftover food. 

“You wanna keep some of this for later?” You hadn’t responded yet when Bucky began putting a small portion of each in a separate container with the plan to stick it in your office’s fridge. The phone on your desk rang, shrill and loud. You quickly push yourself off the couch to grab it,

“Y/L/N.” Bucky watches your brow furrow, your eyes meeting his and rolling before you sigh heavily, “Yeah, I’ll be right up.” The phone clicks heavily against the cradle and Bucky watches you roll your neck, fixing your blouse from where it was untucked during lunch. “I have to get going.” 

“Are you gonna be around for dinner?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist and he leans his head over yours. 

“Probably not,” mumbled into his chest, “But I’m gonna be off tomorrow, so I’ll come over when I’m done.” Pulling back he presses a soft kiss to your lips before saying, 

“I’ll make dessert then.” 

It was late, almost a little too late when Bucky was rolling out dough but you’d called him a few minutes before. 

“Thank you for leaving those leftovers from lunch,” He could hear the echo of the parking garage, whenever you stayed late at work you always felt more comfortable calling him and talking until you made it safely to your car. He would insist on talking to you until you’re in your front door, or his. 

“How bad was it?” He could hear the beep of your car alarm being disarmed and the satisfying slam of your car door.

“Pretty bad,” It was a moment before you connected to the bluetooth of your car and then you continued on, “So before a product goes on the market there’s obviously market testing and our IT department has been working hard cranking out the last few bugs, but they found a huge problem in programming so we had to have an emergency meeting about a delayed release date and I just want this to end.” Bucky sprinkled cinnamon sugar over the dough rolled out on the parchment paper he’d laid out on his butcher block counter top. 

“Once this is over,” He began, “Why don’t you think about sending your book to a publisher.” There was silence on the line, the oven beeped in the background as it finally reached baking temp. “C’mon babydoll, it’s good! It’ll totally get picked up.” He could hear you sigh on the line, not answering still. Phone held between his ear and his shoulder he rolled the dough tightly before cutting it and laying it in the pan. “I’m just saying, think about it.” 

“I will.” Bucky knew it wouldn’t be the last time the two of you would have this conversation, but it also wasn’t the first time either. The cinnamon rolls were in the oven when you entered his apartment, the small bachelor pad that had a navy blue cashmere throw on the couch you gifted him because “You don’t have a blanket to lay on the couch with?” it also had two drawers worth of your clothing, a spare toothbrush, and a full row of your skincare products in the bathroom. 

He could hear you kick off the heels you’d been wearing all day, groaning as you shuffled into the kitchen and sat heavily into the bar chair just feet away from him, resting your head on the counter. Soft lips pressed to the base of your skull, his arms wrapped around you from behind. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A quiet hum. “It smells amazing in here.” Due to the bubbling cinnamon sugar covered dough currently in the oven. The stand mixer was slowly whisking confectioners sugar, cream cheese, butter and vanilla together. 

“I told you I was going to make dessert.” 

They were warm and gooey, with just a little extra icing. The cinnamon rolls burned your fingers as you pulled it apart, steam rising from the center, your leg laying over his lap, his fingers tracing patterns on your thigh in a gentle foreplay as you enjoyed each other for the second time that day. 

“I’ve really missed you.” You mumble against his lips, the sweet icing kiss that turned into another and another that ended with the two of you wrapped around each other, snoring heavily, fully clothed and getting the first good night of sleep the two of you had in a long time.


	5. boeuf bourguinon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you and bucky move in together

“What’s the first thing we should make?” You asked, curled around Bucky on the mattress on the floor. The decision to move in together was easy after spending so much time together and missing each other in passing because one was too tired to go to the other’s apartment. And it’s economical, you both figure. He hummed, the vibrations coming through his chest, fingers tracing patterns on your bare back. 

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to eat?” He asked, dozy and almost asleep. Your memory flits back to last week when you’d watched Julie & Julia while packing. And with half closed lids you mumble back,

“Boeuf Bourguignon.” He lets out a sound that almost seemed like a laugh, too tired to recognize, 

“Okay baby.”

It was a cute little brownstone smack in the middle of his restaurant and Stark Tower, a compromise that had to be reached over many small arguments, too old, too new. Too far. Have you seen the neighborhood? Sam even input on a couple apartment complexes that would be good for the food truck. But it was settled that Bucky didn’t want the restaurant that close to him. 

You ate pizza in between fixing small cosmetic cracks in the wall and painting. Chinese while you arranged the furniture the way you wanted. And you enjoyed curry from the Indian place you loved that just so happened to be down the street from where you’d moved while unpacking the dishes and putting clothes away. 

“What do you think?” He asks, you’d left the kitchen up to him, the layout and how he wanted it organized. The copper pans were a brilliant contrast for your very white kitchen that had been partially the selling point for you. The gas stove top and double oven was the selling point for him. A knife rack on the wall, hanging pots and pans, and a double door refrigerator. It was the compromise for the cracked walls and the floors you’ll need to get redone soon, with some new varnish and spackle you figure you could get a couple more years out of them. 

You smile at him, he looked proud, and leaned against the door frame, “It looks really good.” He met you in the doorway, and placed his hands on the door jam, leaning in to kiss you. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Steve was finally free and coming back to New York so they were moving the opening date for the restaurant to the week that he would be there. Which means it was time to put some vacation days in. 

A knock on your office door, Tony Stark himself. A smile on his face, “What is this I hear about you needing a week off?” 

“Tony I literally just sent the email five minutes ago.” He shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with his foot. 

“I was already on my way down.” He examines the picture on your desk, a photo taken of you and Bucky. The food truck artfully posed in front of the restaurant, the sign had just been put up, your face was buried in his neck and he was laughing at some dirty joke Sam had just said. “Just wondering when you’re going to be inviting me over for dinner now that you’ve settled into your new place.” You sigh and lean back in your chair, he was giving you a knowing smirk. Natasha. 

“Well we are having a little dinner party to celebrate the opening of the restaurant,” You cross your arms as his smirk widens, “Would you like to join us?” 

“Oh, I never thought you’d ask, I’ll be there at 7? I’ll bring drinks.” And just like that he’d left, seconds later an email in reply approving your time off request. 

Bucky wasn’t happy.

“You invited Tony Stark?” Shoulders rolling, kneading dough on the bar top. 

“Nat mentioned it to him,” You defended, “How could I tell my boss that he’s not allowed to come?” He gave you a look,

“This guy runs you all hours of the day,” dough slammed and rolled, dusted with flour and kneaded again, “He calls you all hours of the day.” Dough cutter, cutting the bread dough that would soon be dinner rolls, into eighths. “And the one time you actually ask to have time off, he wants to be involved in some way?” 

“You love Howard Stark.” You roll your eyes and steal a strawberry out of the small container that he was marinating them in. Soaking in Grand Mariner. “He’s basically the same person.” 

“He’s not,” Bucky shakes his head, “Howard Stark was a revolutionary inventor, Tony Stark buys properties and gentrified neighborhoods.” 

“He’s putting in rent controlled housing for low income households.” Bucky sighs and leans back. 

“Partially,” He says, “I know that Pepper Potts is the one who organizes his charitable giving and covers for him.”

“You’re literally grasping for straws here,” You scoff, “We’re working on a way to get rid of fossil fuels all together and you’re upset that he’s only signing the checks, it’s still his money.” Bucky glares at you, sighing heavily. “He pays me a lot of money to do the job that I do, and just because you think I should be doing something else doesn’t mean what I’m doing right now is bad.” 

It was no secret to you that Bucky wanted you to take the leap on trying to get your book published. But this job was what paid your bills currently. You’ve read articles about people getting on the best seller lists having only made 12k on their book, and while you’d hope you would have a best seller, 12k isn’t going to support you. 

“I just want you to do something you love.” Which was easy for him to say because he was doing something he loved. He loved cooking, for you and for others. He loved making people happy, those cherish-able moments of making something for someone you love, that tradition. He loved it.

“Okay,” You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head on his back, “This week I’ll print a bunch of copies and I’ll mail them off to publishers.” 

“I don’t want you to do it because it’s something I want you to do.” He sighs, “I want you to do it because it’s something you want to do.” 

“I do want to.” Mumbled into his back, he smelled so good, having just taken a shower before working on the proved dough. “I’ll do it this week.” A flower dusted hand brought one of yours up to his lips. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

Steve was charming, but shy. Very serious. An american flag pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket that had been quickly discarded when Sam and Bucky gave him shit for wearing a full suit to dinner. The pair of them in a button down and slacks. Wanda and Natasha were also in attendance, with Tony showing up at 7:30 with four bottles of wine and a full bottle of Macallan. 

You’d watched Bucky make it. Boeuf Bourguignon. You felt guilt in the fact that it takes five hours to make, but he said, “That’s what you want,” A kiss to your forehead, “That’s what I’m gonna make.”

Thick bacon cut into cubes and browned in a pan, a couple pieces plucked and tasted, just to make sure they were good with only a minor scolding from your boyfriend. Patted dry beef browned in a pan with olive oil and left over bacon grease. Onion and carrot softened in the same pan, fat poured off and the whole thing was thrown into the dutch oven, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and oddly enough a little flour. 

It cooked for four minutes, was mixed and cooked for another four minutes. Then it was covered in beef stock and Bordeaux. 

“You’re so handsome.” You sigh, watching him place the dish back in the oven after simmering it on the stove. He leans over the kitchen island, dish towel over his shoulder, a kiss to your cheek and then lips. 

“You’re very beautiful,” A softer kiss, “But I need you to get out of the kitchen.”

You were in the way, you knew that. But faked upset as you left the room to finally get ready, ass being met with a whip from the dish towel on your way out. 

Wine was poured as Bucky served the first course, salad, bruschetta, roasted artichokes, and bacon wrapped dates you’d have to convince him to make you again, very soon. 

“I hope you’re treating my girl right, Barnes.” Tony joked, the conversation having steered from Steve’s job, something he couldn’t really talk about, to the new house. You could see Bucky’s jaw clench from across the table, but he sipped the gifted wine and replied, 

“My girl gets treated very well at home,” placing the glass on the table, “Can’t say the same about work.” 

“Who’s ready for our mains?” You interrupt. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” Natasha smiled next to you, placing her fork down. You shot her a small glare, and she sipped her wine with a smug grin. She was never satisfied with things going smooth, always craving a little chaos. 

The boeuf bourguignon was incredible. The meat tender and juicy, the mushrooms and sauce robust. With the first bite you were whining and looking across the table at Bucky who was smiling. “This is incredible.” 

“It really is.” Sam agrees. A silent table is a sign of good food, conversation not starting until plates almost cleared, Wanda starting with,

“So the restaurant opens Friday night, which gives us all Friday morning to make sure we are fully prepped.” They’d set the hours to only open for dinner, if the restaurant does well they figure they can change the hours to be open for lunch as well, but they were working on the conservative side. “Y/N and I will be helping out at the host stand.” 

“I can help in the back if you want.” Steve offered. Sam laughed, 

“Doing what? Dishes.” A glare as a laugh sounded at the table. 

“I could stir a pot or something.” He laughed. 

“How has advertising been?” Tony asked. Bucky and Sam shrug, 

“We’ve been handing out flyers at the truck for weeks,” Bucky said, “We have a good following so we are hoping that might gain us some ground.”

“The sign has been up for a while too,” Sam agreed, “We’ve had people stop by to ask us when we are opening.” Tony nods, but you know the look on his face, obviously up to something. He winks at you. An exchange that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky who then clears his throat, standing from the table you help him clear the dishes, ready for dessert. 

“Does anyone want coffee?” 

…

“We need to get one of those big, industrial dishwashers.” You moan, heels kicked off as you unload the dishwasher after the first load. Bucky scrubbing at the pots and pans in the sink. 

“What was the wink about?” Bucky had been quiet since dinner ended, a tight smile as Tony wished a friendly goodbye. You sipped on Macallan, loading the dishwasher back up with plates while you answered. 

“He’s planning something most likely,” You cringe at food smeared onto your hand by a dirty spoon. 

“Are you sure?” His shoulders tense, pan dropping into the sink with a clang. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, shutting the dishwasher and pressing start. He looks over at you, exasperated. 

“He just seemed a little too friendly.” Bucky tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, you sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“You’re joking.” It was a sore subject. Months ago, before you’d moved in together, Bucky told you about Vivian. Pretty Vivian. A scar from a past relationship where Vivian cheated on him, constantly, and he was dumb enough to go back to her every time. 

“She used me for stability,” He shrugged, “Then slept around with everyone else.” He was insecure about it. Which was stunning to you because you couldn’t believe Bucky was insecure about anything. It broke your heart. 

“I’m not joking.” Anger laced his voice. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the sink, “It would make sense, him calling you all the time, late into the night.” Dish towel thrown down next to him, “You staying late at work.” 

“I would never cheat on you Bucky.” A little snip, “I can’t believe you would even think that I would do something like that.” His jaw is tight. 

“I didn’t think Vivian–”

“I’m not Vivian! I would never hurt you Bucky, and if you think I would maybe there’s something wrong here.” It seemed baffling to you, like maybe you were the one who was supposed to be afraid of Bucky cheating but it was the other way around. He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” He groans, “I know.” He looks at you, upset and emotional, “I know you wouldn’t, I’m sorry, I was just–” You stepped over to him, placing your hands on his crossed arms. 

“You have to trust me.” You said, “If you don’t trust me–” He leans forward to press his forehead against yours. 

“I know,” He sighs, “I’m sorry.” You lean up and meet his lips. 

“I love you.” His hands come to meet your hips, bunching up your skirt. Your tongue pokes out, tracing his bottom lip, his mouth parting for yours, breathing heavily. 

“I love you too.” Your ass meets the kitchen bench, his hands palming your bare thighs to lift you onto the counter, pans forgotten. “I’m sorry.” He whispers against your lips, moaning as you palm him through his slacks. 

“I forgive you.” 

Tony’s planning, his little sneaky wink, was him sending out a mass email to the entire staff that if they show up at Bucky’s restaurant opening weekend that he’d personally reimburse them for their money spent. Something Bucky half resented, but half appreciated. The restaurant opened busy and stayed busy. ‘An overnight success’ one critic said. 

Wanda helped you man the host stand, directing the girls where to take people, seasoned servers, people who Sam and Bucky had known from their days working in other restaurants helped them open. And as far as chaotic restaurant openings are, it wasn’t half bad. Especially when, sitting in the office after hours going over the numbers for the day there were six beautiful digits staring back at you. 

“So I guess we are opening for lunch.” Bucky mused, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“I guess so.”


	6. s'mores

“What is that?” Bucky stepped up from the couch to help you at the door, the fifty-pound box you were trying to slide across the floor. You grin up at him,

“A firepit.” 

Now that the inside decor was mostly taken care of you were slowly piecing together something for your small patio. You’d been bringing home cushion covers, string lights, a crate for blankets. “For when it gets cold.” You tell him. But he was happy to let you do whatever made you happy. And this seemed to make you really happy.

It was an odd day off for him. After giving Sam a few days off for him and Wanda to travel upstate to a bed and breakfast for their anniversary he pushed Bucky to take some time off for himself. The only problem with that was, you’d been busy all week.

It was the end of another quarter, a big project that Stark was trying to launch, some app that you didn’t really explain too much to him about because it was mostly for corporations to see what quality of workplace they were creating. It had something to do with hours of work, versus difficulty of work, versus pay and formulated a score. And with this score it would show you how to improve the quality of work for employees.

Needless to say, in testing, Tony had given you a raise among many others.

But it took up a lot of your time.

Which is why he was so surprised you came home with the firepit anyway. The two of you were listening to music and sitting outside, Bucky on the ground while you sat on the cozy deep outdoor couch that you’d given him heart eyes over when you’d originally gone shopping for outdoor furniture.

“Can you hand me that screwdriver, right there?” He asked, holding his hand out for you to hand the tool to him, which you did, while also letting him take a sip of your old fashioned. His own long since finished but hadn’t quite gotten up to make another. “Thank you.”

You were anxiously waiting for him to finish. A pile of sticks off to the side you’d already collected along with a couple of large branches you’d snapped and what was left of the briquettes from the grill just in case it wasn’t enough and beside you on the coffee table he’d pushed out of the way, marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers.

He flipped the metal base over, pushing himself off the ground he moved it a comfortable distance away while you sipped on the strong drink, admiring the view of your boyfriend bending over in front of you.

“What do you think?” He asked. You grin up at him,

“It’s perfect.” You stood while he went inside to make more drinks, laying the dry sticks and branches on top of the briquettes, using old newspaper from the move to stuff in the sides and light. The sun was just setting, the outdoor string lights flipping on their timer. You hum contently and stick a marshmallow on a skewer. You twisted it around in the flame until it was bubbly and brown, pulling it out as soon as Bucky joined you back outside.

You held the melty fluff to him and he wrapped his mouth around the marshmallow, pulling it off the skewer before sitting down. Munching happily while he handed you a drink.

“Thank you.” You grin at him, a sweet marshmallow and bourbon kiss. Next time the marshmallow was melted and you smushed it between the two graham crackers and a couple squares of chocolate, happily taking a bite while Bucky pulled the blanket across your laps.

“This was a great idea.” He mumbled over a mouth full of s’more. You sip on your drink, a pleasant buzz going through your body, leaning back into his chest as you worked on your second s’more.

“How do you think Sam’s doing?” You ask. It was a Friday night after all. The first Friday night that Bucky hadn’t worked since the restaurant opened. He kept glancing at his phone in worry. Like maybe Sam would need him. He was also checking the numbers, sales. A 10k hour.

“They did a 40k lunch today which isn’t bad for a Friday lunch.” That was busy. So they were hoping to do another 50k at least for dinner, “But we are looking closer to 75,” Bucky was worried but he knows and trusts Sam to handle it.

“Maybe you should have taken off during the week.” You take a sip. “You’d be able to relax more.”

“Yeah, but you’re not off during the week.” You sigh, leaning further into his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you squeezing you to his side.

“Still… it would have made you worry less about what’s going on in the restaurant.” He pulls his skewer from the fire, blowing on the marshmallow that had caught fire and he popped it into his mouth.

“Maybe.” It’s so comfortable. The silence. The radio still playing softly in the background as you both get lost in the flames. Both chocolate bars gone, Bucky munched on graham crackers and the two of you finished off most of the marshmallows. He tasted like sugar and bourbon. A soft kiss on your cheek and then on your mouth, soft fingers tilting your head towards his. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” His tongue is soft, slow. Bucky liked to savor everything, even kissing. His fingers brushing your neck made you shiver. Your lips parting in a soft moan against his. His other hand comes to your leg, tapping it gently before helping you straddle his lap, the blanket falling around your hips, his fingers tracing figures down your back while you slowly kiss. Your fingers finding his hair, scratching gently on his scalp.

You broke for air, resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him as he hugged you to his body. You could almost fall asleep. The smell of just him, clean and masculine. The warmth between you. Work had been so stressful this week and you’d looked forward to spending the entire weekend with him. It was the only thing that made you make it through the workweek. Truly. And this hug, those sweet kisses, this closeness, it was giving your brain a much-needed rush of serotonin and you could feel yourself growing drunk with it.

“I love you so much.” You mumble into his neck, the fire warm on your back.

“I love you too baby.” He rubs your back for a moment, “You wanna go to bed?” A soft nod into his neck. “I’ll put this fire out, go ahead, I’ll meet you up there.”

He wasn’t far behind, meeting you at the sink to brush his teeth. You look at him in the mirror, watching him brush, to which he gives you a silly look, moving back to let you spit into the sink and grab mouthwash. A minty kiss after.

You change into some sleep shorts and an old t-shirt, rubbing lotion on your legs and moisturizer on your face while he changes and washes his face.

Bucky had this skin care routine, and he was very diligent with it, but then again his skin was very nice and clear for working in a kitchen and sweating for 75% of his time. The next part of the nighttime routine was probably the hardest.

He would sit next to you on your side of the bed and you’d take the medicated steroid cream given to him by his doctor and rub it into his left arm. The first time you’d done it you didn’t ask how it happened, “I can’t reach fully on my back.” He said. But he applied this cream every day to give the skin its flexibility back. It was stiff and hard to move sometimes. The tattoos he’d gotten, “They did more harm than good.” The inky swirls and Aphrodite herself, he’d gotten them before he went to war. The full sleeve. “There was an accident,” He told you, “It was friendly fire.” What almost blew his arm off was, of all things, friendly fire.

Against Doctor’s orders Bucky enraged the flesh more by going back to his tattoo artist and having the guy fix what he could on the healing and mottled flesh. “I was a dumb kid,” he said, “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Joining the war. “But they just chew you up and spit you out, thank you for your service and sorry but you’re going to be on the phone calling trying to get help every day for the next however many years of your life.” And it hurt you. It hurt you that he’d gone through this. Trying to get the military to pay for his hospital bills, the corrective surgeries, all the pins and rods in his arm. “I’ve got more metal than bone.”

You did what you could, rubbing the steroid cream into his arm, massaging the sore muscles he’d never complain were sore, working the joints of his fingers and massaging it into his back. The heel of your palm digging into his left shoulder at the knots that would form there from the stress on it. A kiss to the back of his neck and you went to wash the cream off your hands.

When you return the covers are turned down, Bucky already scrolling through the sales app on his phone. “He’s fine.” You scold him, climbing into bed. “Put your phone down.” Bucky sighs and darkens the screen, placing it on the end table.

“I know he’s fine…”

“You need to relax.” You softly kiss him, cuddling up into his side. “Sam can handle it, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about all that,” He jests. “He’s terrible at multitasking.” You roll your eyes, the room partially dark save for the light coming from the cracked door of the bathroom. A must for Bucky.

“You’re terrible at multitasking.” You mumble into his chest.

“That’s not what you were telling me yesterday.” Your core pulsed at that, the memory drifting back. You lift up to glare at him, a cheeky grin on his face. “You’re so beautiful.” He licks his lips, “Did you know that?”

“You’re a suck up.” You scoff, burying your head back into his chest, “Did you know that?”

“I love you baby.” His fingers tracing patterns on your back, your eyes beginning to find that tiredness you’d had on the patio.

“I love you too.”


End file.
